Fun in the Conference Room
by Chimuwaku
Summary: A needy Hashirama has been waiting for far too long and decides to toy around with Madara during an important meeting. Rated M for a reason.


**A/N:** This was made for a contest of sorts by Pikacheeka on tumblr. It is very, very NSFW and rated M for a reason. I hope you enjoy~

* * *

There is squabbling amongst the many clans represented in this monthly meeting: what lands to plot, what profits to split, what alliances to continue and bring to creation. Voices echo around them, whether they be pleased or, more likely, annoyed; but things have not progressed much in the hour at the round table. Not in terms of business, at least. Hashirama's hand, however, has managed much more...

Fingers twine in the fabric of dark pants, brushing against a stiff knee. He can imagine the feel of that tender, pale skin on his own, sun-kissed hand; feel the shivers of anticipation eat at their bodies as they claw one another in raw passion. His own nails now drag up that clothed thigh, even as he's given discreet glares and kicked away with a silent growl.

"...What do you propose, Madara?"

The room suddenly grows hotter.

"Expand the boundaries enough to satisfy three living quarters for every market space. Too much commerce will only burden and bankrupt the village. Any other notion would be utterly ridiculous," he responds smoothly, voice even despite the little game the Senju was playing under the table.

"Nonsense-"

"-How can you...!"

"Self-righteous..."

Still, Madara appears impassive.

Discontentment fumes between each elder and clan leader, but Hashirama has long since disregarded the specifics of it all. His focus lies on a different sort of tenseness, a different set of eyes - on causing shallow breaths and shifting legs. Digits run ragged against an inner thigh, climbing up, up, and up further still, until grazing the very edge of his extremity. Only a touch, and then he draws back, caressing the opposite thigh while his own eyes feign focus on a Shimura. Engages discussion, even; a faint grin pulling at his lips as Madara slaps his hand away and gives a low, breathy hiss.

This is hardly enough to stop the Shodai, however. His grin grows as he reaches back over and gives Madara's half-hardened member a firm squeeze.

From the corner of his eye, Hashirama notices those pursed lips of his part just enough to suck in what must be much needed air, but more notably are the deep gray eyes that widen and flare to the most dangerous crimson red he's ever seen. All the chatter around them halts to an eerie silence, and at first all Hashirama can do is hope that Madara hasn't seriously damaged their internal organs or voice box or perhaps even their brain-

And then breath halts as deft fingers wrap around his throat, squeezing enough that deep purple will eventually mar his flesh; but the breath fanning out on his jawline is enough to distract. A long, heavy tension runs thick between the two, neither quite willing to give in, until the anger in Madara's gaze dims. His calloused hand lowers down to grip the collar of Hashirama's robes, pulling him in, and the next thing he registers is a harsh bite on the cartilage of his ear.

"There are _people _around!"

"You shouldn't have used your sharingan-"

"Don't lecture _me _on morals. These sorry excuses for shinobi wont even remember a thing when they wake."

"But they'll want an explanation from me..."

"Oh? Tell them you were neglecting your duties by violating the head of-"

"-I haven't even gotten that far yet!"

Silence.

"...What?"

Madara promptly rises from his seat and turns towards the door with a mumble of _fucking idiot _and_ head of my clan. Clan!_

"Where are you going? Wont you at least lift the genjutsu?"

"I'm going home. Do it yourself."

Hashirama has been doing too much himself lately. If Madara had simply accepted his touches and kisses at least once these past two weeks, it would have been easier to brush this aside and deal with business as usual. Every time he'd make an advancement, asked, or even _pleaded _that he stop avoiding their love, Madara would smack him upside the head or walk away with no explanation. So why? Why was Madara being so difficult? Maybe...

There'a a _woosh _of wind as Hashirama makes his way across the room, appearing in front of Madara and proceeding to slam him into the nearest wall. One hand holds him by the wrist, pinning him, and the other grabs a fistful of wild hair and gives a tug, eliciting a feral hiss from the other that does not go unnoticed. His right leg slides forward, closing in on the man against him, and his upper thigh digs into Madara's groin. This close, no breath goes unnoticed, and the hot air fanning out between the two is enough to fill the still air between them.

"I fight for what I want, Madara."

A knee connects into his gut full force, enough to have Hashirama stumbling back until the cool metal of his own chair is digging into his side and adding to the other marks he'll feel later. He's given no time to catch his winded breath as Madara is soon lunging forward and bending him back by his tame hair, body arced beautifully above the table.

"You don't fight hard enough."

Thigh touching, hips nearly aligned, the prickling of his hair being nearly torn from its roots; two weeks without a touch and now this was enough to set him aflame, causing him to nearly give in and let himself be taken by Madara's whim; however, that's not what he needs right now. Hands reach to grab whatever piece of cloth that he can, pushing forward with all of his weight and forcing Madara back. There's a struggle as they dance around one another with clenched fists and pounding hearts, the unconscious clansmen around them forgotten as nails bury deep in flesh and blood trickles onto the pure white of Hashirama's Shodai's physical strength wins out as it does with most spars, and he nearly has Madara pinned once more; but lighter on his feet, the Uchiha maneuvers his way out and slams his head hard against the other's.

Hashirama sees stars spinning in bright colors, the fire quenched within him for a brief moment until both the shared heat and his overwhelming chakra flare out together with the intensity of a thousand suns. He's rarely resorted to doing this to his best friend, and soon enough guilt knaws at his insides. Only when the world rights itself once more is he aware of the fact that Madara is actually dragging him closer after the fact, hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him into a hard kiss.

Teeth tug at bottom lips, bottom suck at upper. Patience worn thin between the two, Hashirama is welcomed with a demanding tongue wrapping around his own in a familiar spar that causes thrill to run thick in his veins, reaching the tips of his toes and the ends of his hair. Even as he's the one pinned against the wall he does not give up, his chakra exploding around them once again so that he can roughly press against Madara's chest and force him to trip back and fall against the table.

As Hashirama reaches down and fumbles with his own clothing, there are two things he's aware of: Madara's hair is sprawled out on top of a few very important documents...and there is a breathless, smug look on his lips as he sits up and begins to slide off.

"What kind of Hokage are you," he taunts. "Are you really stupid enough-"

Hashirama abruptly takes a hold of both legs and lifts them up in the air, leaving Madara with no choice but to fall back, and manages to tug off the folds of clothing without getting knocked away. They join his own on the floor of the conference room, and then he's moving in between either thigh and peering up; lips curling into a half grin as he eyes Madara and takes the tip of his arousal in his hot mouth.

The expression on his lover's face is one he will always savor, despite the typical silence he's given, as Madara's jaw tenses and lips are bitten and chewed on deep enough to sometimes draw blood. He struggles to pull his gaze away, but eventually it lowers from his rumpled shirt, trailing down a barely exposed naval and protruding hip bones, until finally taking in the sight of the delicious cock which he's been aching for. But he's far too wound up to savor it, and with a firm grasp his fingers knead into the soft flesh, quickly bringing him to a fully hardened state with his touch - despite the way Madara tries to shove him back. With a bit more struggle left in him, he tries to scoot back and escape the assault on his member, even kicking his leg up as if he really wanted to decapitate the Senju. With the kind of quickness found on the battlefield, Hashirama skillfully grabs his right ankle and bends the leg back onto the table, avoiding the attack.

Returning to his ministrations, he runs his tongue down the entirety of Madara's length once, twice, thrice, and then traces generous circles around the tip as he gives him tight stokes; squeezing accordingly until Hashirama tastes the tang of pre-cum on his lips. Underneath his touch, Madara somehow seems to relax enough that he risks caressing the unmarred. fair skin of his inner thigh and hips, nearly laughing as muscles tighten underneath his fingertips. He manages to stifle his giggles, however, pleasure shooting straight to his groin at the way Madara throbs his mouth. He's left wanting more - wanting to _take _more, all of him, every last bit until there's nothing left but the two of them, joined as one.

Even as he looks up and finds Madara wearing nothing but a glazed stare, he inches a little closer. Up and down, back and forth, deeper and deeper his mouth ventures, until he can go no further and Madara's large cock is hitting the back of his throat and causing him to hum in pleasure. The vibrations coarse through them both and only then does Madara give in, propping both legs on the Shodai's shoulders and forcing him to take every last inch over and over, arching his body _just right._

Hashirama tips back and gives a hard suck to the flushed head, saliva trickling from his lips and onto his own hand, and gives special attention to the underside of his length as fingers leave a trail of cool wetness all the way down to the patch of skin just above his lover's entrance. At first, he's careful to tease with his nails, but when Madara tenses Hashirama presses down hard enough to make him jump underneath his touch and the faintest of breaths hitch in his throat.

Success.

"Hurry up and use your dick you idiot-"

"But I haven't..."

"Now-!" Madara growls, grabbing the man and pulling him up as thighs slip down around Hashirama's waist, desperately pulling him closer until there's the probing of his cock up again Madara's ass. Hips rise up off the table, meeting him halfway, and Hashirama swears the only thing that exists is this fire consuming him, this blissful feeling of being drawn into unending suffocation that he's lacked for far too long. The grip has him gasping out, but he pushes forward even as Madara groans and muscles fight against the raw intrusion. With a powerful roll of his hips he's penetrating deeper and quickly finding himself buried to the hilt inside of-

"Fuck-!"

The loud curse spilling from Madara's lips has Hashrama tipping his head back and body arching, toned muscles clenching, relaxing, and tensing. He wastes no time in giving the next thrust, and the next, even as hands grip each of his arms so tightly that nails dig in and tear the sleeves of his haori. He barely even registers his blood is being spilled, too lost inside of his unbelievable tight lover.

"Is this-" he gasps out, leaning closer and pounding into him at a different angle. "-this what you want?"

His answer is the legs that hike further up his back, pulling him down so their bodies press close together, and Hashirama obliges by holding himself up with a shaky right arm and giving lust-filled kisses wherever he can reach. He's only vaguely aware that his fists are clenched around those important documents and, as he lets out hot breaths against Madara's neck, heat consumes him and leaves him with no choice but to bite and suck on the soft skin to contain himself from boiling over.

The softest sound lingers in the back of Madara's throat, making the Shodai moan out with his next, angled thrust, and when Madara tips his head far back Hashirama knows he's found that small bundle of nerves deep within him. There's this light quivering underneath him, something so beautiful that for a moment Hashirama forgets his aggressive fucking and just savors this moment, of taking him, having him, calling him his own, and he's about to breathe out those three forbidden words between them when Madara claims him in a forceful kiss and rides out his cock at that very same angle, hands burying in chocolate hair.

"Madara..." he murmurs against those lips, but gives in to his needs and pummels into him full force, hitting that spot over and over again, that heat coursing through him and pooling low in his stomach, threatening to spill over at any second. His left hand desperately finds Madara's length, fingers curling around the base and giving fast, even strokes; but he can't focus much longer, this feeling too powerful to overcome lest he stop his movements, and neither of them are having that. There's no teasing left in him, and his thumb soon finds the underside of his cock and forces that pleasure to the brim.

"Ngh-"

"I...I'm gonna-"

In hindsight, Hashirama should have been more careful with the papers in his hand. They were very important tax documents, after all, and the fact that he completely tore them up would be quite hard to explain. But even harder was controlling himself in moments like these, and as Madara closes around him, squeezing out his own pleasure, the waves hit him full force and he's left with nothing but this suffocating fervor that takes him over and has him crying out and clinging to whatever he can; his release building and building and then spilling out, filling Madara completely just as his hand draws out the same from his love.

They are lost in each other in that moment, only to be found in heavy pants and messy remnants. There are sloppy kisses, mostly on Hashirama's part, and sticky fingers that move to touch everything. Ripped papers are cast aside without a care, and he falls atop Madara in exhaustion. Madara, in turn, even spares his usual pride to run his own hand through Hashirama's astray hairs, eyes shutting as he relaxes against the table.

"Hashirama?" he murmurs, the first to speak.

"Yes?"

"You are the worst Hokage this village will ever know."

He really should feel insulted, and perhaps if he wasn't so tired he would even pull one of his pouts. Instead, he wears a soft smile.

"Yeah, I am. But you're not expecting me to be any other way."

There's a pause, and only when Hashirama looks up does the other speak.

"No. You will never change, Idiot Senju."


End file.
